Page 13 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford (Regency Murder and Marriage #4)
“Parlour games are out of the question when household members are in mourning,” Mrs Canards - who had evidently been eavesdropping - called across to Jane, “However, I believe light music might be acceptable. Mrs Mifford is so proud of her daughters’ accomplishments; perhaps one of you might play something on the pianoforte? ”
As Mrs. Canards well knew, not one of the Mifford sisters held a musical note in their head. As Emily, Jane, and Eudora dithered in their response, Mary—ever certain of her capabilities, even when they did not exist—called out in agreement.
“If someone can play the pianoforte, I can accompany them by singing,” she offered.
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Jane said, rushing to dissuade her elder sister from the idea.
“We already have one dead body,” Mr Mifford agreed, in a dire assessment of his daughter’s talents.
“I don’t like to toot my own horn, but I can play,” Cecilia offered, with a smile to the room.
“I can also play a little,” Mrs Mifford interrupted, obviously put out to be bested by Cecilia yet again.
“I don’t believe that the room wishes to hear Mary Had a Little Lamb repeated ad nauseum, dear,” Mr Mifford said, with a knowing glance his wife’s way.
Mrs Mifford huffed a little with annoyance but did not protest again, and Cecilia began to play.
The dowager duchess chose a light piece to begin, quiet, with a note of melancholia - but not overly morose.
The room fell into silence as the guests listened in appreciation, but as Cecilia moved on to her next piece, they began to chat quietly amongst themselves.
Eudora allowed her mind to drift as, beside her, Emily listened to the conversation taking place between Lord Percival and Mr Lowell. The gentlemen were discussing the latest advances in textile production and what the invention of new machinery and steam power might mean to business.
“I envisage that one day, production will move from hand to exclusively machine,” Mr Lowell said, his demeanour humble but his tone certain.
“Codswallop,” Lord Percival argued, “We can’t allow that to happen; what will happen to all the children employed in the factories and mills? Will they be left to the care of their parish, another mouth to feed?”
“Perhaps they will be offered an education?” Emily interrupted passionately.
“And the chance of a better life. I am unsure if you’re aware, my lord, but the conditions those children work in are abhorrent.
Many regularly lose fingers - even limbs - to the machines they operate; some even lose their lives.
Tell me, Mr Lowell, do you engage many children in your mills? ”
Eudora’s attention - and that of half the room - was now on poor Mr Lowell, whose cheeks had turned a little pink from all the attention.
“Regrettably, yes,” he said, turning his grey gaze to Emily, “But I fervently hope, that one day, it will not be the case.”
The sincerity in Mr Lowell’s eyes and the slight crack in his voice as he spoke, lent the industrialist a most endearing air. His handsome face and thick dark hair only added to this and both Emily and Eudora fell into blushes.
From the corner of her eye, Eudora spotted Lord Delaney bristling, but she ignored him. She was captivated by the man’s humanity, that was all; there was no need for anyone to get upset.
“Dreadful thing, child labour,” Highfield agreed, his tone a little louder than necessary. He, too, had noted the dizzying spell that Mr Lowell had cast on his female audience.
The other guests murmured politely in agreement, though Lady Albermay was compelled to speak.
“I visited one of my father’s cotton mills when I was a child,” she said, her eyes unreadable as she gazed into the past, “Horrible place; loud, dirty, and so much dust. It hangs in the air so that every breath you take scratches your lungs. When we left, my clothes were coated in that wretched dust. I was finding it in the strangest of places for days.”
Eudora shivered as she imagined a place where simply breathing was uncomfortable. The air in Plumpton was always fresh and clean, except on the early spring days when manure was spread on the surrounding fields.
“Cotton dust,” Mr Lowell commented cheerfully, “Sometimes I fear that there is nothing but that between my ears.”
Even the worldly Lady Albermay flushed as Mr Lowell offered her a humble smile, which made Eudora feel slightly better. She wasn’t just a green girl if the viscountess was also disarmed by him - the man was very charming.
“The New World is where the future of cotton lies,” Captain Ledger interrupted, a little belligerent for a man who was usually so mild-mannered, “When I sailed with the merchant navy, American-grown cotton was in high demand. I fear Britain’s monopoly will not last long, even with our supplies of Indian cotton. ”
“Perhaps,” Mr Lowell answered, with a Gallic shrug, “Or perhaps demand will rise so much that both countries will be needed as suppliers. Do you still sail the Atlantic, captain?”
“On occasion,” he answered, “I prefer to stick closer to English shores these days, but I go when it is asked of me.”
“Captain Ledger captained the ship that brought me to England,” Lady Albermay informed the room. “I can vouch that he is a copper-bottomed captain.”
Eudora blushed again as Mrs Canards and Mrs Wickling cast scandalous glances at Captain Ledger’s bottom, which was perfectly presented in a pair of tight breeches. It did look very firm…
“Forgive me,” Lady Albermay became flustered, “Copper-bottomed is sailor speak for safe. I was trying to say that Captain Ledger made me - I mean, all the passengers - feel very safe on our passage to England.”
“I’m sure he did,” Cecilia, who had stopped playing, agreed as she cast an appreciative glance the captain’s way.
“I rather wish he hadn’t,” Lord Albermay’s voice interrupted, “If that ruddy boat you arrived on had sank mid-Atlantic, my father might still be alive.”
The room fell into an awkward silence. Captain Ledger’s jaw was set, and he had every appearance of a man about to do violence until Lady Albermay offered her own retort.
“Had my boat sank mid-Atlantic,” she answered waspishly, “You would have inherited debts rather than a fortune. Do not try to paint me as a murderess in an attempt to hide your own guilt, my lord.”
“Lies,” Lord Albermay screeched.
He rose to a stand on feet so unsteady that he was in danger of toppling over. He was, Eudora realised, deep in his cups - though that was hardly remarkable, given that it was his usual state.
Captain Ledger stepped forward to rise to the challenge, but Ivo cut him off, placing himself bodily in front of the handsome seafarer.
“Enough,” he said, addressing Lord Albermay, “I am aware that you have suffered a loss, my lord, but it does not relinquish you of all your duties - namely manners and good grace.”
Lord Albermay snorted disparagingly to indicate that he had heard - but did not entirely agree with - his host.
The silence in the drawing room was now tense as each guest fidgeted with their hands or cast their eyes skywards to avoid looking at either Lord or Lady Albermay. Only Mrs Canards seemed at ease, her beady eyes bright as she glanced from one to the other, savouring every detail of the scandal.
“My father was murdered under your roof,” Lord Albermay broke the silence as he addressed Ivo, “Yet you have made no move to find out who it was that murdered him.”
To those outside the inner circle of the Mifford clan, his accusation rang true. Little did the viscount know that almost half the guests present were working to find the murderer.
“I shall interview every person in this household tomorrow,” Ivo answered evenly, “To ascertain their whereabouts last night. As magistrate of Plumpton, it is my duty to see that the murderer is apprehended.”
“Good,” Lord Albermay spat, with a venomous glance at his stepmother, “I should like to see the culprit hang. If you’ll excuse me, I wish to retire to my room. The company at this gathering leaves a lot to be desired.”
Lord Albermay’s words might have been cutting, were it not for the fact that it was he who was ruining the evening. As he stalked from the room, Eudora noticed several people hiding amused smiles behind their hands.
“Shall I play something else?” Cecilia suggested as the door slammed behind the irate viscount.
“Heavens do,” Jane pleaded, touching a weary hand to her brow.
Eudora felt a stab of pity for her sister; how terrible it must be to have to act as hostess in such circumstances - and in front of Plumpton’s most notorious gossip.
As Cecilia resumed her play, Mrs Canards and Mrs Wickling began whispering to each other. After a few minutes, they declared their intention to retire for the evening and left the room. Their departure was soon followed by several others, who claimed their need for rest.
Eudora stole a glance at Lord Delaney, who stood on the other side of the room with the remaining gentlemen and realised that he was waiting for her to make her move. She raised her brows in question, a move which he answered with a slight - almost imperceptible - nod of his head.
“I think I too shall retire,” she said as she stood.
“You’re usually the last to bed, dear,” Mrs Mifford observed, casting her a worried glance, “Are you upset about the murder?”
While Eudora could not begrudge her mother for displaying maternal concern, she was annoyed that her observation caused several suspicious looks from her siblings. It was impossible to do anything unobserved when surrounded by sisters.
“Thank you, Mama,” she answered, as she willed herself not to blush, “I’m perfectly fine; I just wish to close my eyes after the day’s excitement. It’s not every day one finds oneself trapped in a house with a murderer.”
“The only murder I have witnessed so far was committed by Her Grace,” Mrs Mifford whispered to her four daughters, “I fear that her belief in her musical talents is a tragic case of The Emperor’s New Clothes.”